


Artwork

by BloodyAbattoir



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyAbattoir/pseuds/BloodyAbattoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My last work of art, even though the world has never appreciated my work before. This time, it has to be perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artwork

The rope's got the most interesting texture. Painful if you run it through your hands too fast, but not too uncomfortable. At least, not too uncomfortable for a piece of rope. A piece of rope that is going to end it all tonight. IT's this god-awful shade of neon yellow, like the yellow that construction workers wear. It's a really cheery color, however, when you start to think about it's intended purpose. Maybe the classic tan jute rope would've been more appropriate for this.   
  
When I bought it at the hardware store, the gave me funny looks asking 'Why?'. I told them it was an art project. And in a way, I wasn't wrong. It would be the prop for a gruesome art piece, the last one that I'd ever make.   
  
This world didn't care for me or my creations anyways, it never has.   
  
Nobody had seen a single thing. I refused to let all my careful planning and scheming go to waste. I refused to be found before my plan was in action.   
  
The rope's been slung from the perfect branch. I have a pretty nice view from here, and I'm grateful that it's going to be the last thing that I see. The branch is pretty thick, so I'm hoping it won't break under my overweight ass.   
  
The sun is starting to rise. Now's the time to do it. My note is in my jacket pocket. I sincerely hope that I at least enter the afterlife in what I'm wearing now. Fuckloads more comfy than any fucking robes those angels in heaven wear. But who the hell said I'm even going to get to go to heaven anyways?  
  
I put the noose around my neck like it's not lethal, as though it's one of those fake flower necklaces you get for those Hawaiian parties. I took a deep breath of the cool dawn air, jumping off the tree, facing the reservoir. It was truly a beautiful sight, even as the rope bit into my neck, and my breaths near gone. I didn't even struggle.   
  
Gerard Way was dead at 17. He was the tools in the creation of this one last piece of art.


End file.
